Anyhow, I reckon gettin’ fed an’ then sickin’ it all back up agin jest made the poor critter ’bout half crazy bein’ hungry. But next I know, Thang’s took off like a shot, a headin’ fer one’a my chickens!
Well, he caught it, an he ate it down, beak an’ feathers, an’ he sicked it right back up agin’ ’fore I could stop ’im.
That made me hot all over agin’. Some dang idjut makes a mess’a my hayfield, then this Thang makes messes all over m’yard, an’ then it eats one’a my chickens. Now I’m a soft man, but there’s one thing I don’t stand for, an’ that’s critters messin’ with the stock. I won’t have no dog that runs cows, sucks eggs, or kills chickens. So I just grabbed me the first thang that I could and I went after that Thang t’lay inta him good. Happens it was a shovel, an’ I whanged him a good one right upside th’ haid ’fore he’d even finished bein’ sick. Well, it seemed t’hurt him ’bout as much as a rolled-up paper’ll hurt a pup, so I kept whangin’ him an’ he kept cowerin’ an’ whimperin’ an’ then he grabbed the shovel, the metal end.
An’ he ate it.
He didn’t sick that up, neither.
Well, we looked at each other, an’ he kinda wagged his tails, an’ I kinda forgave ’im, an’ we went lookin’ fer some more stuff he could eat.
I tell you, I was a pretty happy man ’fore the day was over. I reckoned I had me th’ answer to one of m’bills. See, I c’n compost ’bout ev’thang organic, an’ I can turn them aluminum cans in, but the rest of th’ trash I gotta pay for pickup, an’ on a farm, they’s a lot of it what they call hazardous, an’ that’s extra. What? Oh, you know, barrels what had chemicals in ’em, bug-killer, weed-killer, fertilizer. That an’ there’s just junk that kinda accumulates. An’ people are always dumpin’ their dang old cars out here, like they dump their dang dogs. Lotsa trash that I cain’t get rid of an’ gotta pay someone t’haul.
But ol’ Thang, he just ate it right up. Plastic an’ metal, yes’m, that was what he et. Didn’ matter how nasty, neither. Fed ’im them chemical barrels, fed ’im ol’ spray-paint cans, fed ’im th’ cans from chargin’ the air-conditioner, he just kept waggin’ his tails an’ lookin’ fer more. That’s how he come t’chew on my Chevy; I was lookin’ fer somethin’ else t’feed him, an’ he started chawin’ on the bumpers. Look, see them teethmarks? Yes’m, he had him one good set of choppers all right. Naw, I never took thought t’be afraid of him, he was just a big puppy.
Well, like I said, by sundown I was one happy man. I figgered I not only had my trash problem licked, I could purt-near take care of the whole dang county. You know how much them fellers get t’take care’a hazardous waste? Heckfire, all I had t’do was feed it t’ol’ Thang, an’ what came out t’other end looked pretty much like ash. I had me a goldmine, that’s how I figgered.
Yeah, I tied ol’ Thang up with what was left of a couch t’chew on an’ a happy grin on his ugly face, an’ I went t’sleep with m’accountin’ program dancin’ magic numbers an m’haid.
An’ I woke up with a big, bright light in m’eyes, an’ not able t’move. I kinda passed out, an’ when I came to, Thang was gone, an’ all that was left was the leash an’ collar. All I can figger is that whoever messed up m’hayfield was havin’ a picnic or somethin’ an’ left their doggie by accident. But I reckon they figger I took pretty good care of ’im, since I ’spect he weighed ’bout forty, fifty pounds more when they got ’im back.
But I s’pose it ain’t all bad. I gotta friend got a plane, an’ he’s been chargin’ a hunnert bucks t’take people over th’ field, an’ splittin’ it with me after he pays fer the gas. And folks that comes by here, well, I tell ’em, the story, they get kinda excited an.…
What ma’am? Pictures? Samples? Well sure. It’ll cost you fifty bucks fer a sample’a where Thang got sick, an’ seventy-five fer a picture of the bumper of my Chevy.
Why ma’am, what made you thank Okies was dumb?
Copyright © 1998 by Mercedes Lackey
ON SALE NOW
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COMING SOON
(by popular demand)
REBOOTS II
Ken Liu, a relative newcomer to the field, was nominated for two Hugos in 2012 (and won one); for two Nebulas (and won one); and he also won a 2012 World Fantasy Award. As this issue goes to press, he has been nominated for three 2013 Nebulas and a 2013 Hugo. Ken also does translations from the Chinese, and is working on his first novel.
--------------
EFFECT AND CAUSE
by Ken Liu
.ssengnihton, neht dnA
***
Flash white blinding a.
***
“Brace for impact,” says the computer.
The superheated air cools. Out of the white light, things emerge: the instrument panels; myself in the chair, clutching the handholds; the jagged edges of the cockpit wall knit themselves into a pristine whole.
“T minus one. Shields breached.”
Through the porthole, I see a silvery fishlike shape depart. Already, it’s kilometers away.
“T minus ten.”
The silver light winks out at the edge of visibility like a dying star.
***
Dashing about the cockpit, I frantically punch lit up buttons to make them go dim. The anxiety subsides.
I run backwards out of the cockpit until I end up in the galley.
The klaxon goes off.
“Incoming: theta six-one, phi one-four-eight, distance six-five-five, velocity one-oh-seven.”
Ignoring this, I sit down at the table and pick up a cup to spit scalding hot coffee into it. Then I proceed to vomit food onto my plate so I can sculpt it with a knife and fork into peas, carrots, an omelette.
***
A shiver, and my thoughts flow forward again.
“What…happened?” I ask.
“Unknown.” The computer pauses. “System clock is out of sync with sidereal observations.”
“It’s like someone just took his finger off the REWIND button.” I set down the cup of coffee that had just come out of me, nauseated. “We were dead.”
“Affirmative.” The computer hesitates. “And impossible.”
“An Azazin ship,” I say.
***
We know almost nothing about the Azazin save that they’ve made repeated incursions into this region of Union space. My one-man sentry ship is our first line of defense.
“They seem to believe in preemptive attacks,” I say.
“Hypothesis: we hit a temporal anomaly that briefly reversed the flow of time,” the computer says.
“I’m going to return fire.”
“But if time has been reversed, our attack now would be unprovoked.”
I shrug. “The military lawyers can sort out causality later.”
From the trajectory of the projectile that hit me, it’s easy to calculate the location of the stealth Azazin ship.
“Subphotonic missile ready.”
The click from the big red button is satisfying.
I press up against the porthole. Watching flickering numbers on a screen is never as good as the actual explosion.
“T minus ten.”
The passing seconds seem to slow down.
“T minus zero.”
But there is no dazzling flare, no new star in the sky.
“.orez sunim T”
The arrow of time.
…The missile reverses its course, now flying backwards, retracing its arc back to the launch tube…
…I rush around the cockpit, frantically pushing buttons…
***
The galley. Spitting coffee. Someone takes his finger off the REWIND button.
We’ve been throug
h it dozens of times. Sometimes I shoot at them; sometimes they shoot at me. But always, we end up back here, fifteen minutes earlier.
“They can temporarily reverse the local flow of time in a bubble for up to fifteen minutes,” the computer says. “Perhaps it’s even triggered automatically when their ship is destroyed.”
“I think the time-reverser is designed to allow those in its field, including the Azazin, to keep their thoughts and experiences,” I say, finally understanding. “They’re repeating the experiment to gather intel on our tactical responses, like running rats through a maze.”
***
Ignoring the computer’s vociferous objections, I engage the manual override targeting system.
I press the big red button; the click is satisfying.
The faint trail of the missile approaches the spot in space where I know the Azazin ship is hiding.
“T minus ten.”
So close—
My heart is in my throat.
—nothing.
“A miss. Closest approach to target: fifty meters.” There’s a faint trace of I-told-you-so in the computer’s voice.
Time continues to flow forward. The Azazin were able to tell that I was going to miss, and they didn’t bother to reverse time for my useless attack.
No choice now. “Set a collision course. Full speed ahead.”
“They will simply rever—”
“DO IT!”
We dive towards the invisible target, the oldest, most desperate tactic known to man. But, perhaps, they cannot believe that I will actually go through with it.
***
.ssengnihton, neht dnA
***
Flash white blinding a.
***
The ship zooms backwards, in front of me a dark, looming bulk that quickly fades against the stars.
And then the finger is off the REWIND button. It’s fifteen minutes earlier.
“A miss—”
Before the computer can finish, I punch a small black button: my jury-rigged secret. It sends a signal that shuts off the antimatter containment field in the subphotonic missile’s warhead.
A dazzling flare, and then the most beautiful sight in the universe: the spinning, glowing vortex of a matter-antimatter annihilation explosion.
“Well done,” says the computer.
I gambled that the Azazin time reverser could not be triggered twice in quick succession. The missile was meant to come close, but miss. My suicide collision course was calculated to take exactly fifteen minutes. When the Azazin reversed time’s arrow, they brought the missile back to its point of closest approach. Effect became cause.
“Thinking backwards hurts,” I say, as we continue to watch the spinning vortex.
Original (First) Publication
Copyright © 2013 by Ken Liu
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Robert Silverberg is one of the true giants of science fiction. He is a multiple Hugo and Nebula winner, a Nebula Grand Master, and a Worldcon Guest of Honor, the author of numerous acknowledged classics in the field. This story was both a Hugo and a Nebula nominee in 1973.
--------------
WHEN WE WENT TO SEE
THE END OF THE WORLD
by Robert Silverberg
Nick and Jane were glad that they had gone to see the end of the world, because it gave them something special to talk about at Mike and Ruby’s party. One always likes to come to a party armed with a little conversation. Mike and Ruby give marvelous parties.
Their home is superb, one of the finest in the neighborhood. It is truly a home for all seasons, all moods. Their very special corner of the world. With more space indoors and out…more wide-open freedom. The living room with its exposed ceiling beams is a natural focal point for entertaining. Custom-finished, with a conversation pit and fireplace. There’s also a family room with beamed ceiling and wood paneling…plus a study. And a magnificent master suite with twelve-foot dressing room and private bath. Solidly impressive exterior design. Sheltered courtyard. Beautifully wooded ⅓-acre grounds. Their parties are highlights of any month. Nick and Jane waited until they thought enough people had arrived. Then Jane nudged Nick and Nick said gaily, “You know what we did last week? Hey, we went to see the end of the world!”
“The end of the world?” Henry asked.
“You went to see it?” said Henry’s wife Cynthia.
“How did you manage that?” Paula wanted to know.
“It’s been available since March,” Stan told her. “I think a division of American Express runs it.”
Nick was put out to discover that Stan already knew. Quickly, before Stan could say anything more, Nick said, “Yes, it’s just started. Our travel agent found out for us. What they do is they put you in this machine, it looks like a tiny teeny submarine, you know, with dials and levers up front behind a plastic wall to keep you from touching anything, and they send you into the future. You can charge it with any of the regular credit cards.”
“It must be very expensive,” Marcia said.
“They’re bringing the costs down rapidly,” Jane said. “Last year only millionaires could afford it. Really, haven’t you heard about it before?”
“What did you see?” Henry asked.
“For a while, just greyness outside the porthole,” said Nick. “And a kind of flickering effect.” Everybody was looking at him. He enjoyed the attention. Jane wore a rapt, loving expression. “Then the haze cleared and a voice said over a loudspeaker that we had now reached the very end of time, when life had become impossible on Earth. Of course, we were sealed into the submarine thing. Only looking out. On this beach, this empty beach. The water a funny grey color with a pink sheen. And then the sun came up. It was red like it sometimes is at sunrise, only it stayed red as it got to the middle of the sky, and it looked lumpy and saggy at the edges. Like a few of us, hah hah. Lumpy and sagging at the edges. A cold wind blowing across the beach.”
“If you were sealed in the submarine, how did you know there was a cold wind?” Cynthia asked.
Jane glared at her. Nick said, “We could see the sand blowing around. And it looked cold. The grey ocean. Like winter.”
“Tell them about the crab,” said Jane.
“Yes, the crab. The last life-form on Earth. It wasn’t really a crab, of course, it was something about two feet wide and a foot high, with thick shiny green armor and maybe a dozen legs and some curving horns coming up, and it moved slowly from right to left in front of us. It took all day to cross the beach. And toward nightfall it died. Its horns went limp and it stopped moving. The tide came in and carried it away. The sun went down. There wasn’t any moon. The stars didn’t seem to be in the right places. The loudspeaker told us we had just seen the death of Earth’s last living thing.”
“How eerie!” cried Paula.
“Were you gone very long?” Ruby asked.
“Three hours,” Jane said. “You can spend weeks or days at the end of the world, if you want to pay extra, but they always bring you back to a point three hours after you went. To hold down the babysitter expenses.”
Mike offered Nick some pot. “That’s really something,” he said. “To have gone to the end of the world. Hey, Ruby, maybe we’ll talk to the travel agent about it.”
Nick took a deep drag and passed the joint to Jane. He felt pleased with himself about the way he had told the story. They had all been very impressed. That swollen red sun, that scuttling crab. The trip had cost more than a month in Japan, but it had been a good investment. He and Jane were the first in the neighborhood who had gone. That was important. Paula was staring at him in awe. Nick knew that she regarded him in a completely different light now. Possibly she would meet him at a motel on Tuesday at lunchtime. Last month she had turned him down
but now he had an extra attractiveness for her. Nick winked at her. Cynthia was holding hands with Stan. Henry and Mike both were crouched at Jane’s feet. Mike and Ruby’s twelve-year-old son came into the room and stood at the edge of the conversation pit. He said, “There just was a bulletin on the news. Mutated amoebas escaped from a government research station and got into Lake Michigan. They’re carrying a tissue- dissolving virus and everybody in seven states is supposed to boil their water until further notice.” Mike scowled at the boy and said, “It’s after your bedtime, Timmy.” The boy went out. The doorbell rang. Ruby answered it and returned with Eddie and Fran.
Paula said, “Nick and Jane went to see the end of the world. They’ve just been telling us about it.”
“Gee,” said Eddie, “We did that too, on Wednesday night.”
Nick was crestfallen. Jane bit her lip and asked Cynthia quietly why Fran always wore such flashy dresses. Ruby said, “You saw the whole works, eh? The crab and everything?”
“The crab?” Eddie said. “What crab? We didn’t see the crab.”
“It must have died the time before,” Paula said. “When Nick and Jane were there.”
Mike said, “A fresh shipment of Cuernavaca Lightning is in. Here, have a toke.”
“How long ago did you do it?” Eddie said to Nick.
“Sunday afternoon. I guess we were about the first.”
“Great trip, isn’t it?” Eddie said. “A little somber, though. When the last hill crumbles into the sea.”
“That’s not what we saw,” said Jane. “And you didn’t see the crab? Maybe we were on different trips.”
Mike said, “What was it like for you, Eddie?”
Eddie put his arms around Cynthia from behind. He said, “They put us into this little capsule, with a porthole, you know, and a lot of instruments and—”
“We heard that part,” said Paula. “What did you see?”
Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 2: May 2013 Page 2